


Pride

by the_obsidian_ronin



Series: Humility Side-fics & One-Shots [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AC: Revelations Arc, Crossover, M/M, Other, Side-fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_obsidian_ronin/pseuds/the_obsidian_ronin
Summary: Revelations arc for Icse's and my fic Humility. Please note that this doesn't follow A Lesson in Humility to a T, nor even closely. It was just something I thought would be a neat "what if".





	1. The Con of Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/gifts).



_ Masyaf, 1189 _

_ So dark, the con of man.  _

Anakin rode straight into Masyaf, the heavy pound of Threepio’s hooves matching the beat of his own heart. His sword was light in his hand, the rush of adrenaline that came with battle buzzing at his fingertips and making his sight sharper. A Templar fell to his blade, the Assassin he was defending having stumbled back and landed awkwardly. Two more Templar fell to his knives, and Anakin turned to the other Assassin. “Are you hurt?” 

The man nodded to his leg, rolling his eyes. “Broken foot.” 

Anakin hefted him up, easing him onto a nearby bench. He immediately started unlacing his boot to ease the swelling. “What is your name, brother?” 

“Anakin. Son of Shmi,” the blond stated bluntly. He was surprised anyone at Masyaf didn’t already know his name, if not by his actions or rumors surrounding them. Al Mualim’s favorite attack dog, the arrogant bastard son, the fatherless runt.

“Ah, yes, Shmi. She was a proud healer, and a dutiful warrior when she needed. She fought, and died, with the honor of a true warrior.” 

Anakin averted his eyes. Shmi had died in a bandit raid on the road back from Jerusalem when he was small, and Padme, only a young teenager at the time, was the only one who survived save Anakin himself. They sought refuge with the Assassins, and never left. Few sympathized with him; he had no father, and as far as he knew, he was an orphan being raised by a Catholic Crusader. 

The sharp tone of Mace cut through the air, tense, unsure, and even slightly scared. His words panted, and the man said, “Anakin! We have been betrayed.” He gestured to the Keep hundreds of feet from them, rising like a glorious beacon of hope. “The enemy has overrun the castle!” The pound of Mace’s feet stopped twenty or so feet in front of Anakin, and the man sighed. 

Anakin ignored him for a moment, nodding to the Assassin. “You’ll live, brother. Padme will patch you up when this is all said and done.” 

Mace scoffed at being ignored, but Anakin kept his voice level, free of his irritance. “And what of Al Mualim? Where is he?” 

“He was inside when the Crusaders broke through,” Mace sighed, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do for him now.” But Anakin turned towards the castle, eyes scanning for his entrance. As he went to run, Mace shouted after him. “Anakin! We must fall back!” 

Over his shoulder, the blond called, “When I close the gates, flank the Crusaders in the village and drive them into the canyon.” 

“You don’t stand a chance!” 

_ I’m counting on that. _ “Mace. No mistakes!” 

If there was a reply, he didn’t hear it. He was too busy rushing himself into the throng, where he could escape his mind and feed his soul. Crusaders fell to his blade, blood staining his robes a deep red in patches. 

He made his way to the gate, where a black-clad Crusader stood.  _ Dooku. _ A man he had once called brother, a man he had once fought alongside, was now his enemy. He pointed at Anakin with his curved sword, the wicked blade glinting in the sun. “Another step, and your Mentor dies!”

Anakin scoffed, eyes narrowing beneath his hood. “You will not leave this place alive, traitor.” 

Dooku laughed, slipping on his helmet. “You misunderstand, child. I am no traitor, for I cannot betray those I never truly loved.” 

The gate rattled shut, the maniacal laugh cut off by Anakin’s shout of, “Then you are doubly wretched, for you have been living a lie!” 

With little thought, he launched himself up onto the gate’s wall, hand over hand like he’d done thousands of times before. The rough stone used to tear the pads of his fingers, but the hard skin that had replaced the soft hands of a child took it as if climbing were the only things it were made for. 

The Crusader at the top of the gate was promptly thrown off by Anakin, who hauled himself onto the wall’s top. The sharp  _ snap  _ of a crossbow greeted Anakin’s ears, and then the sound of Dooku shouting,  _ “Now _ you call on your lapdog to protect you? You disappoint me.” 

_ Al Mualim! _ Anakin peered through the archery slots, watching Dooku’s ellipse he paced. “Why not share what you’ve learned with everyone, like a proper Assassin? Why not share with your brothers the true extent of your ambition? Where is your sense of fraternity?” 

Anakin wanted to shout,  _ What do you know about fraternity, traitor! _ , but only launched himself into the haystack below, dragging a Crusader with him. 

The second  _ twang _ came when Anakin was scaling the Keep’s wall, looking to assassinate Dooku from above. Al Mualim met Anakin’s gaze and gaze the slightest of nods before turning his attention back to the traitor in front of him. “Another good man dies, and still you say nothing! I am surprised, really. You taught me many things, Al Mualim, but patience was not one of them!”  _ Lies, _ Anakin thought, but said nothing. “Speak now, or I will cut out your tongue that you may speak no more!” 

Anakin reached the top of the keep, waiting silently for Al Mualim’s signal. 

“Your time is running out, old man,” Dooku scoffed. “Tell me what you know of the artifact, Tell me where you are searching for it! It is a small price to pay to preserve what you built here, no?” Dooku sized Al Mualim up and down, likely grinning under his helmet. “Even if you found the artifact, what good would it do you? You have neither the skill nor the breeding to weild its full powers. In your hands it would be a....  _ Seductive _ and powerful weapon, yes, but little more.” 

_ Artifact? _ Anakin wondered, waiting quietly as he was to do.  _ Is that the same thing as what Quinlan and Kenobi are searching for this very minute? _

A third twang, and Anakin’s heart broke. A death he could have prevented, but Al Mualim said no. The venom dripping from Dooku’s words made his intentions clear, and Anakin prepared to jump. “Another good man dead because you  _ refuse _ to talk! Your silence will be the death of you too, Assassin; my Master wants answers, and if he does not get them, he will gladly take your head instead!”

Dooku leveled the crossbow at Al Mualim, and Anakin leapt, blade extended behind him and a snarl on his face. The traitor knelt before him, blood oozing from his shoulder where Anakin’s blade had pierced his heart. “You put too much faith in the hearts of men, Anakin. The Templar know the truth... Humans are weak, base, and petty.” 

Anakin shook his head, sighing. “No. Our Creed is evidence to the contrary.” 

Dooku laughed, grinning up at Anakin in hopeless ironic mirth. “Ah.... Perhaps I am not wise enough to understand, Anakin, but I suspect the opposite, that I am too wise to believe.... Such rubbish.” 

With his last words, he crumpled over in half, and his chest stilled. Anakin laid him out on his back, closing his eyes. “Safety and peace into the next life.” 

Al Mualim approached him, hand on his bloodied shoulder. “You offered himself to salvage his dignity. Why?” 

Anakin cocked his head, turning his gaze to the Crusader dead at his feet. “No man should pass from this world without knowing some kindness,” he whispered, thinking of his mother. 

Al Mualim sighed, saying, “But he shunned your graces!” 

Anakin shrugged, blue eyes averted. “As was his right.” 

Pride glimmered in the eyes of Al Mualim, the warm brown the only father he’d known, the only man that told him he could be worth something. Al Mualim was his everything, his Master, his father, his Teacher. And to see such pride, it filled Anakin with joy. 

“I have watched you grow from a boy to a man in such a short time, Anakin, and it fills me with as much sadness and pride. You fit your mother’s shoes as if they had been tailored to your feet.” 

“I didn’t know her well as a mother,” Anakin whispered. “She was an Assassin, above all. Wherever she came from, she was the strongest of them.” 

“I agree.” Al Mualim paused, and then said, “You, too, were born into this order. Do you regret it?” 

“How can I regret the only life I’ve ever known?” Anakin asked in response, and Al Mualim laughed, brown eyes twinkling. 

“You may find a way, in time, and it will be up to you to choose which path you prefer. Come, my boy, and ready your blade. This battle is not yet won.” 

 

Later, Padme was stitching him up, the woman oddly quiet. “What’s wrong?” Anakin asked her, and she sighed. 

“I saw my father,” she whispered. “He demanded to know why I sided with such... such...  _ barbarians.” _ She trembled at the word, and looked to the blond apologetically. “I did not mean to offend.” 

“You didn’t. The Assassins, we have a bad name out there. Here, we keep people safe, but out  _ there, _ ” he gestured to the outside of the Halls of Healing, “we are drug-addled monsters.” 

Padme sighed. “Oh, Ani, don’t think like that. That’s far from the truth.” 

“But it’s what they  _ know,  _ Padme. It’s all they’ve been raised to believe. That we’re the enemy.” He leaned into her touch, feeling comfort wash over him. “I’m starting to think that there needs to be a reason now.” 

“Anakin,” the woman warned. “You’re discussing treason. You just killed a man who thought he could play God and decide who lives and who dies.” 

_ He’s no different than us, _ Anakin wanted to say, but the words got stuck in his throat. No, he was better that, better than the  _ Templar. _ Crusaders, Templar, what was the difference? 

Padme’s small silver cross around her throat came to mind, and he sighed, shaking that thought out too. There was a line, he knew. Peace through freedom, versus peace through control. Same end result, different methods. 

_ How many more people would have to die before this fight is over?  _ Anakin winced as she pulled the thread tight once more.  _ How many Assassins? Templar? Civilians?  _

His thoughts lingered on Kenobi and Quin, off in some unknown land, investigating some top-secret thing that even he didn’t have access to. Padme patted his shoulder, and Anakin pulled a soft gray tunic over his head. 

_ As many as it takes, _ he murmured to himself. 


	2. Soothsayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soothsayer, can you save them?   
> Can you see the streets in blood,   
> the remnants of your name?   
> Soothsayer, can you save them?

_ Soothsayer // Zack Hemsey  _

* * *

 

_ Masyaf, September 1191 _

 

_ You killed the only man who believes in you-- _

_ He was a traitor!--  _

_ And so is Kenobi, so is Quinlan, so is Mace, isn’t he? You know he’s going to betray you-- _

“Is it over?” Ahsoka quietly asked. “Is that sorcerer really dead?” 

“He was no sorcerer, Ahsoka. Just an ordinary man in command of illusions.” He raised his head, staring at the ceiling to ease the tears. His hood fell back, but the tears still leaked out. Ahsoka walked to him, wrapping him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Skyguy,” she whispered, dark braids falling over her shoulders. “I know he was like your father.” 

“If my father were a traitor,” he murmured back, and then gathered himself. “Have you prepared the pyre?” 

“Yes, but... Anakin.... Some of the men, even Kenobi, won’t stand for it.” She shifted foot to foot, the tattered Whites she wore almost gray with dirt. 

“I’ll deal with that,” Anakin sighed, hefting Al Mualim’s body in his arms. He could feel the linger of the Apple on him, the witchcraft that had conceived it like a plague in his mind. As they headed for the pyre, Assassins moved out of their way. It seemed to hurt his pride, the ego that started all of this shattered. The silence was tense, until Anakin said, “Are you fit enough to travel?” 

“Well enough.” 

“I’ve sent Bail to Jerusalem with news of Al Mualim’s death. Will you do the same for Acre?” 

“Of course, Master Skywalker.” 

He paused at the title, and then realized that he was, in fact, Master. In fact, he was Mentor. The new Al Mualim. Twenty-six and leading the Assassins, a divided faction, into an uncertain future. Ahsoka winked, and then darted down the hill towards Barriss. A kiss was exchanged, and they headed off for Acre. 

Mace ran to him, the gate of Masyaf hovering over them. “What has happened here?” 

“He deceived us all,” Anakin whispered, staring down at the grizzly, bloody face of his master. It was still so raw, so  _ real, _ that it seemed unreal. “The Templar corrupted him.” 

“Where is your proof?!” Mace howled, going to shove Anakin. The blond simply stepped out of the way, eyes even. 

“Walk with me, Mace, and I will explain.” Anakin took a few steps, but Mace, not following, growled, “And if I find your answers wanting?” 

Anakin sighed, willing back the tears. “I will talk until you are satisfied.” 

Silently, the Assassin drew up alongside him, stepping over the littered bodies of fallen Assassins because of Al Mualim’s treachery. Anakin’s heart sank; this was not what was supposed to happen. If Quinlan hadn’t given the Apple to Kenobi, none of this would have happened. But maybe it still would have, he reasoned; after all, Al Mualim was a Templar. And now, so was Quinlan. 

“Do you remember the artifact we recovered from Maul? In Solomon’s Temple?” 

“You mean the artifact you were sent to retrieve, but Kenobi delivered?” Mace snapped, and Anakin flinched. He didn’t want to think of that. 

“Yes.” Anakin ran his tongue over his teeth, and then said, “It is a Templar tool, called the Apple of Eden. It can conjure illusions and control men’s minds. If what Quinlan and Ventress say is true, it is a deadly weapon.” 

Mace scoffed. “You believe that white bitch and the traitor? You believe that Al Mualim fell under its spell?” 

Anakin faltered in his step, and then contained his rising anger. “I believe Quinlan and Ventress, after everything they did to me, because they still came back and helped  _ us _ defeat the Crusaders. I wouldn’t trust them with my life, Mace, understand that, but I will not deny that I have respect for them.” He sighed, and then said, “And I do. Today he used the Apple to enslave Masyaf. You saw this for yourself.” 

“I.... I do not know what I saw,” Mace whispered, and Anakin was certain that was the first time he ever saw Mace uncertain of his own mind. He shook his head; there was no brotherhood now, not with the ruin Al Mualim had laid to it. 

Anakin laid Al Mualim on the pyre, turning to Mace. “Listen. The Apple is safe in Al Mualim’s study. When I am finished here, I will show you all that I know.” 

If Mace heard him, it was cut off by his own shout of “ _ No, Anakin, no!” _ when the blond set fire to the pyre. 

The flames grew like wildfire, the robes catching fire and burning, turning into scraps of ash floating on the breeze. “I  _ must  _ know he cannot return.”  _ The illusions, don’t you understand? I must know! _

“But this is not the Assassin way! To burn a man’s body....” he stared down in horror, and Anakin had to agree he was disgusted with himself. “It is forbidden!” 

From the crowd below, someone shouted, “ _ Defiler!” _

“Hear me out!” Anakin shouted to them, hands extended, panic in his voice. “This body could be another one of the phantoms! I must be certain!” 

“ _ Lies!” _ Mace howled, grabbing Anakin. “All your life, you have made a mockery of our Creed! You bend the rules to suit your whims, while belittling and humiliating those around you!” 

_ Kenobi-- Quinlan--  _

“Restrain him!” 

A chorus of shouts in agreement sounded from below, and he heard the voice of Kenobi calling out. “Did you not  _ hear him? _ Al Mualim was bewitched!” 

“All my life, you have fed me to the wolves,” Mace snarled in Anakin’s ear. “It’s time I do the same to you.” 

He hurled Anakin off the cliff into the crowd, where a mob broke out. Kenobi helped Anakin up, blue eyes concerned. “Are you alright, dearest?” 

Anakin drew a knife before he could reply, throwing it into the throat of an attacking man. “Been better,” he winked, and they stood back-to-back, drawing off each other as they spun to defend themselves as a circle formed around them. 

A scream caught everyone’s attention, and Anakin looked up to see Mace with the Apple, who laughed out a maniacal, sadistic sound. 

“What did I tell you, Anakin?” He held the Apple aloft, gold radiating throughout the area. 

“Mace! Stop!” Kenobi shouted, and the venom in Mace’s voice silenced him further. 

“What did you think would happen, Kenobi? Why did you let your favorite attack dog  _ murder _ our beloved Mentor?” 

_ Attack dog.  _

_ “Such a good puppy,” Ventress whispered. “So good for his master. Not even Quinlan Vos will save you, puppy. You are mine.”  _

Anakin stumbled, shaking his head clear of the fragmented memory. 

“You loved Al Mualim less than anyone!” A familiar voice shouted from the crowd. It parted to show Quinlan Vos coming, helping Anakin up to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then turned to Mace. “You blamed him for everything, even your father’s suicide!” 

_ “My father was a hero!”  _ Mace shouted, a wild tone to his voice. 

“This is not the time to quarrel over the past,” Anakin called, and then pointed to the Apple. “We must figure out what to do with that weapon!” 

“Whatever this artifact is capable of, you are not worthy of it!” 

“No man is!” Kenobi, Anakin, and Vos shouted at the same time, but Mace did not reply, and Anakin took off to climb the tower Mace had barricaded himself in, even as his screams of pain came down.  _ Leave him, _ a part of him whispered.  _ All he’s ever done is make you miserable.  _

_ But that makes me just like him, _ Anakin decided, and hauled himself up over the ledge. Mace was on his back, the Apple far out of his reach. “Forgive me...” he whispered, reaching towards Anakin as he lifted the Apple. “I did not know....” 

“Have you anything else to teach us, or will you lead us all to ruin?” Anakin whispered into the Apple, studying it as it once again became a dull, lifeless orb of metal. 


	3. Of God's Blood and Burial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if written wrote me even chance  
> and the choice to save you   
> I wouldn't answer it if I even had to ask

_ Masyaf, September 1228 _

Kenobi sat next to Anakin, the man sulking under his hood. Anakin knew the question burning at his tongue, but little was said; Kenobi rarely asked his questions. Anakin always knew. “The Templar have retaken Cyprus. Mace sent no reinforcements. It was a massacre.” 

“Oh my God,” Kenobi murmured, eyes averted downward as he covered his mouth. “It is as I feared.” 

“Master, when I left Masyaf ten years ago, this Order was strong. Now all our progress has been undone.” Anakin rubbed at his face, trying not to show the building rage that had ebbed its way into his chest, burning his face a bright red before he could squash it out of existence. 

“Mace must answer for it,” Kenobi nodded, and rested a hand on his husband as if he noticed the rage. “But Anakin, revenge is not our way.” 

“Answer to whom!” Anakin barked, standing and staring at his lover. Kenobi’s hand fell off and the man stepped back in quiet shock, the slight bit of fear crossing his face before it was promptly squashed. Anakin’s shoulders slumped, his head hanging.  “The Assassins won’t even listen to you anymore, Kenobi!” 

“Resist revenge, Anakin. Speak truth, and they will see their error,” Kenobi advised, the ginger’s auburn hair now more gray than the last time they’d seen each other. Crow’s feet had kissed his face, crinkling under the harsh Syrian sun. But still, he scoffed, thinking,  _ Like that ever worked.  _

“He executed Barriss, Obi-Wan! Our  _ daughter! _ He deserves to die!” Obi-Wan laid a hand on his shoulder once again, Anakin leaning into the touch. Ten years had been far too long, far too much of a distance for them to see each other. He was home in Kenobi’s arms, and on his knees in front of him was where he belonged. If only the occasion permitted such an act.... 

“Perhaps, but if you cannot win back the Order by honorable means, its foundation will crumble.” 

In Kenobi’s words, he found solace, and then nodded. “You are right,” Anakin sighed, after a pause. “Thirty years ago I let my passion overtake my reason. It lead me to you, but it has caused a rift that has never fully healed.” 

Kenobi flinched, as if knowing of whom he spoke. The three of them had been a unit, when Anakin was an egotistical bastard that left Quinlan and Kenobi for dead and nearly died from his own wounds. Of course, Quinlan still came and went, and invited both him and Kenobi to his wedding some months after they retook Masyaf, but it wasn’t the same. They weren’t the same. Obi-Wan only grinned, then said, “Speak reasonably, and reasonable men will listen.”

“Some will, but not Mace. I should have expelled him thirty years ago when he tried to steal the Apple.” 

“But you earned the respect of the others when you let him stay,” Kenobi murmured. 

“How do you know this?” 

“I married a masterful storyteller.” 

Their chatter led them to the gates of Masyaf, eyes wary. “Look at this place,” Anakin murmured. “Masyaf is a shadow of its former self.”

“You have been away a long time,” Obi-Wan whispered, eyes lowered. 

“But not in hiding!” Anakin threw up his arms, exasperated. “The Mongol threat demanded our attention, and we rode to meet it. What man here can say the same?” 

Kenobi did not answer, but simply asked, “Where is Ahsoka? Does she know Barriss is dead?” 

“I sent her a message four days ago. With luck, it would have reached her by now. But her grief will cloud her judgement. She was always a passionate student, but her passion made her nearly unstoppable.” 

“That it will.” Kenobi paused, and then sighed. “Yes, well. She  _ was _ your student.” 

Anakin snorted. “That she was.”

Around them, people stared and whispered at their return. Assassins lingered in the shadows, watching, then slinking away to inform Mace of their progress. The buildings crumbed, the people tired, poor, and weak. Silence fell as they moved through the town, and Anakin sighed. “I almost pity him. Mace.... He wears his grudge like a cloak.” 

“His wound is deep, Anakin. His father’s death still wounds him.” Kenobi stroked his graying beard, and then threw back his head and laughed. “The irony of all this, Anakin. We are outcasts in a society we rebuilt.” 

“And it shouldn't. I told the truth,” Anakin protested. 

“And it would help him to hear it,” Kenobi soothed. 

“Kenobi, what kind of luck have we fallen on?” The blond cast his eyes to the sky, not caring that his hood fell from his head to his shoulders. “It is the worst, it seems. As you said, we are outcasts in a society we rebuilt. We beat and cracked this stone, Kenobi, and left little but us alone. It was exactly that, I think, that ruined us.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” Kenobi sighed, taking Anakin’s hand. “But if we ever find out, it’ll be a miracle of unrealistic proportions.” 

Anakin squeezed his lover’s hand, even as silence fell. It felt like ages before Anakin spoke. “As I walk these streets, I sense a great fear in the people, not love.” 

“Mace had dismantled this place and robbed it of all joy. Even Satine’s unbreakable joy has been stripped from her, with the passing of Padme....” Kenobi shook his head. “How gray can a place be that was once so full of color?” 

“We may be walking to our doom, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured, as if he didn't hear Kenobi. 

Silence filled them, and then Kenobi sighed. “We may. But we walk together.” His hand found Anakin’s once again, and they grinned at each other, the peace of being together after so long surrounding them. They had found other outlets in their time apart, but they were always drawn to each other, their fates entwined like two young lovers under bedsheets. 

The walls of Masyaf greeted them, and they found Mace in the peaceful cliffside arboretum, where other Assassins drew their weapons. Mace raised a hand, graying hair and weathered face as malicious as ever. “Let them speak.” 

“We seek the truth about my daughter’s death,” Anakin began. “Why was Barriss killed?” 

“Is it the truth you want, or an excuse for revenge?” 

_ Damn. _ Anakin sighed, but Obi-Wan came up with a response before he could. “If the truth gives us an excuse, we will act on it.” 

“Surrender the Apple, Anakin, and I’ll tell you why she was put to death.” The malice didn’t diminish, and the fragile hope Anakin had gained was promptly squashed. The rage built again, the rage so familiar to his young mind. 

“So the truth is out already,” Anakin mused to the gathering crowd. “Mace wants the Apple for himself! Not to open your minds, but to control them!”

“You have held that artifact for thirty years, Anakin. It has corrupted you, all while you hoarded its power and secrets.” Mace’s hand extended for the Apple, and Anakin smirked, extending it out. 

“Very well, Mace.  _ Take it.” _

“What?” Obi-Wan whispered, eyes wide. 

Saw walked up to Anakin on Mace’s command, the soft gold of the Apple covered by dark hands as he tried to take it. “Before I executed Barriss,” he grinned, the same malice on his face as on Mace’s, “I told her you ordered it yourself. She died believing you had betrayed her.” 

Anakin narrowed his eyes, and then watched as Saw convulsed under the power. “Anakin!  _ No!” _ He stepped in front of the man, attempting to calm his husband down, but the peirce of a blade in his back froze his face in agony. 

Anakin plunged his hidden blade into the throat of Saw, eyes burning in rage, and caught Obi-Wan as he fell. A bloody hand extended towards Anakin, pressing against his face, and then he smiled. “Strength, Anakin.” 

“Obi-Wan....” Anakin whispered, pressing a kiss to his husband’s forehead. 

Mace howled in rage, shouting, “He is possessed! Kill him! Take the Apple!  _ NOW!” _

Anakin left his husband, racing down out of the fortress and leaping through the window, shattering it as he did so. It broke his heart a little, to see the beautiful stained glass he once loved so much give way to his body, but it was necessary. 

Ahsoka found him outside the Keep, racing under heavy archer fire. “I got your message, Skyguy. What’s going on?” 

“Turn back, Ahsoka!” Anakin howled, racing towards her. 

“Have they all gone mad?” she asked, blue eyes focused on them as they found a safe place to catch up for a moment. 

“We have to go,” Anakin rushed out. “Mace  _ must not _ get his hands on the Apple.” 

Wordlessly, she nodded, as if she understood the implications of what she was about to do. “If you need more knives, take them.” 

They ducked as more knives and arrows found them where they hid. Ahsoka handed the knives to Anakin, and they rushed down the village, slaughtering those who stood against them as they fought back to back. It was like old times, fighting against Templar, but this was their flesh and blood, their family, the ones they had fought so hard to protect. 

“Where is Kenobi?” Ahsoka finally called, and he sighed. 

“He’s gone, Snips. I’m sorry.” 

She turned towards him in anger. “What? How?” 

“Later,” Anakin snapped, throwing a knife at an Assassin behind her. She turned, then nodded her thanks. “First, we fight.” 

With every Assassin they came across, Ahsoka begged them that it didn’t have to end this way, and every time they chose their fight instead, and every time, Anakin said, “Forget reason, Snips. They were poisoned by lies.” 

He could see her heart sink, even as they raced towards their exile. They reached the gates of the city, and they mounted horses, racing off to the path that would lead them out of Masyaf. Mace was behind them, howling. “I will have the Apple, Anakin! And I will have your head for all the dishonor you have brought upon my family!” 

Ahsoka turned to the direction of the voice, then nodded to Mace. “Was it him who killed my wife?” 

“He killed Barriss, Bail, and countless others. Ben is probably on that list, too.” 

“He is a madman,” Ahsoka whispered, mind clearly on her adopted son. 

“A madman with an army,” Anakin dryly stated. 

“He will die, one day. He will  _ pay _ for taking Barriss from me.” 

Silence fell, and they rode hard, until their horses were near collapse and the moon was high in the starry sky. 


	4. The Great Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _but you crossed the great divide,_  
>  so we'll meet you on the other side.... 

The Great Divide // Celldweller

* * *

 

_ Masyaf, 1247 _

_ “They say he screams in his sleep, _ ” she began, the fire under-lighting her face, “calling out for his father.” Rey stared into the fire, her triple buns the oddity of her long hair. Rare were female Assassins, but it was the one thing Mace never truly took away. Why, though, was unknown. 

Poe scoffed. “What a miserable man, that Mace.” 

Kylo sighed, dark eyes focused on the flames. “It is not our place to judge,” he replied quietly, and Rey laughed at him. 

“It most certainly is. If our Master has gone mad, I would like to know,” she paused, then shook her head. “Whatever, Kylo. I’m not going to argue with you.” The dark-haired man opened his mouth to speak, hair bundled at the nape of his neck, then closed it. 

“Hush,” Poe snapped, and then turned to the newcomer. “Good evening.” 

The man nodded, and in a hoarse, broken voice, asked, “Water.” 

Poe stood to sit on the ground, handing the man a skin of water. “Of course. Sit.” 

Anakin dipped his head in humility. “Many thanks.” 

Kylo tilted his head, eyes studying him. “What brings you here, old man?” 

Anakin did not reply right away, staring at the flames. “Pity Mace, do not mock him.” He lifted his head, studying the young group. “He has lived as an orphan most of his life, shamed by his family’s legacy. He is desperate for power because he is powerless.” 

Kylo leapt up, eyes blazing like the fire before him. “He is our  _ Mentor! _ And unlike Al Mualim or Anakin, he never betrayed us!” 

Rey slapped him upside the head, eyes narrowed. “Shut your mouth, Kylo. Anakin was no traitor.” Her eyes lingered on Anakin, and said, “He was driven out, unjustly.” 

Kylo scoffed, leaving the group and leaving them in peace. Poe shrugged, taking his spot. “Good riddance.” Rey gave him a look, then rolled her eyes before returning back to Anakin. 

“Is.... Is it really you? I had heard rumors, but I did not believe them.” Rey rested her hand on Anakin’s, her kind eyes telling a tale of warmth and peace. “Are you truly returning?” 

“I wonder if I might speak with Mace myself,” Anakin sighed out after a long silence. “It has been a long time.” 

Poe scoffed. “Impossible. Mace uses rogue  _ Fedayeen  _ to keep us from the Castle.” He tore into some beef jerky, muttering in his native Latin. “Even if we  _ wanted _ to get close, Mace could have us executed.” 

“He won’t do that. Too few of us are Assassins.” Rey leaned back, legs stretched out before her. In Anakin’s younger days, he would have chased her to no end, but there was little time for that left. Rey sighed, chewing on her bread. “Fewer than half the fighters are true Assassins.” 

Anakin grinned. “So where do I begin?” 

Poe and Rey exchanged looks, and together, they stood, crossing their right hand over their chest in the gesture of respect for a mentor. “With us,” they murmured, grinning. 

They escorted him towards the fortress, whispering as they did so. “You say these men are cruel. Has anyone raised their blade to an innocent?” 

“More than one,” Rey sighed, shaking her head. “Brutality seems to be their sole joy.” 

Anakin set his jaw. “Then they will die, for they have compromised the Order. But those who still live by the Creed must be spared.” 

Poe grinned. “You can trust in us, Mentor.” 

They fanned out, closing in on a set of two captains. They stood, chatting, as they ignored their senses. “Have you heard the stories around the village?” 

“What, of Mace’s nightmares?” the second scoffed, rolling his eyes. He shifted back and forth, hookah twitching in his fingers. 

“No, no. Of Anakin.” The first’s eyes scanned the area, searching for what his gut told him was there. But he didn’t find it, Anakin too lost in the darkness with his dark clothes. 

“What about him?” The man took a drag off a hookah, shrugging. 

“People say an old Assassin saved the life of a merchant down in the valley. They say he fought with a hidden blade.” 

“Bah, rumors. I don’t believe them.” Smoke blew out of his nose and mouth as he spoke, then he cracked his neck. Anakin’s skin crawled at the sound. 

“True or not.... Say nothing to Mace. He is sick with paranoia.” 

Anakin approached, his body aching with every step. He was getting too old for this, the quiet steps of his youth so far away. He alerted the captains, much to his dismay, and the first one rolled his eyes. “You make me ill just looking at you. Someone should put you down, old dog.” 

“Clear out, old man, and we won’t hurt you,” the second hissed, and Anakin rolled his eyes, plunging his blades into the men’s throats. Rarely did he take pleasure in death anymore, but this one was oddly sweet. 

Alarms were raised in the fortress, even as Anakin walked towards it. Assassins appeared on the village rooftops, but many quietly displayed their respect. 

“Anakin is here? In the village?” The voice of another captain floated to Anakin, and a moment later, Anakin saw him. “Send word to the castle, quickly! Assassins! To me!” 

But few raised their blade, and those that did died at the blades of those who stood alongside him. The captain paled in the light, and an Assassin appeared next to Anakin. “Mentor!” 

Anakin smiled and dipped his head. “Welcome.” 

A second whisper-shouted at him, anger clear in his tone. “Hush! We don’t want to get him killed!” 

They stalked through the night, until the captain spotted Anakin with his growing small army. “There! Kill the traitor!” His voice lowered, lips curled back. “You are  _ nothing _ without that artifact. Nothing! You pathetic miser.” He scoffed. “Stand down or die.” 

Anakin sighed, shaking his head sadly. “You could have been spared, friend.” 

The captain laughed, cruelly, harshly. “I am not your friend, old man.” 

The blades of his allies felled the men who stood against him, and Anakin called the leaders down. “Follow me to the castle.” He paused, and then said, “And spill no blood if you can help it.” 

They nodded their understanding and scampered off to relay the information to their men. The path to the fortress was steeper than Anakin remembered, harder to grab purchase with his feet. His body seemed to scream in agony with every step he took, panting with the effort. A captain found him, her hazel eyes staring down at him with quiet passiveness as she guarded the entrance to the keep. “Anakin,” she began. “It has been two decades since we last saw you within these walls.” 

The old man held his breath, hand twitching with anticipation of her attack. Instead, she crossed her arm over her chest, a smile on her face. “We could use your wisdom, now more than ever.” 

Anakin nodded his thanks, and she fell into step behind him as he stood, Mace staring at him through the swarm of Assassins. “Kill him! Kill him now!” 

When no one moved, Mace howled, “What are you waiting for?” 

Again, no one moved, and Mace sighed. “You fools! He has bewitched you.” 

A feminine voice, young, younger than his time away from Masyaf, piped up from the back. “Our Mentor has returned!” 

Crowds parted for him as he headed for Mace, body aching and feet wary. This fight grew tiring for him, an eighty-year-old man fighting for something a man in his twenties could barely understand. This wasn’t just about the Creed anymore, no. It never was about the Creed. 

Mace stared at him as he reached the castle doors, standing in the great hall that lead towards the libraries where Satine had once worked. “Tell your men to stand down,” Anakin panted, short of breath from the steep climb. 

“No!” Mace howled, brown eyes wide. “I am defending Masyaf! Would you not do the same?” 

Anakin shook his head sadly, eyes watery. “You corrupted everything we stand for, and lost everything we gained. All of it, sacrificed on the altar of your own spite.” Anakin stared at him, and then his shoulders slumped. “All in spite of me.” 

“And you,” he scoffed. “You have wasted your life staring into that Apple, dreaming of your own glory!” 

Anakin took a breath, nodding. “That is true, Mace. I learned many things from the Apple. I chose the life of a monk, a scholar with no true purpose. I learned of life, of death, of the past and the future.” Anakin stared at his bracer, where the toy he’d built grinned back at him. “Let me show you,” Anakin whispered, and raised his arm. 

His arm shot back as the bullet flew through the air, piercing Mace’s shoulder in what seemed like slow motion. Anakin didn’t remember racing to his side to catch him before he fell down the stairs, easing him down onto the stone floor of Masyaf. That gray haze he once knew so well as a young man returned, and Anakin pressed his hand to Mace’s cheek. 

“I can never forgive you, Anakin,” Mace whispered, as if understanding now why Anakin was there. “The lies you told of my family, my father. The humiliation I suffered....” Mace grinned, but it was a sickly grin, the one of true spite and hate. His teeth were bloody, even as it poured from the wound in his shoulder. 

“They were not lies, Mace. I was ten years old when your father came to see me. He was in tears, begging to be forgiven for betraying my family, my mother. He then cut his own throat. I watched his life ebb away at my feet....” Anakin looked down, his voice a mere whisper. “I will never forget that image.” 

“No.” 

Mace’s rejection stung, even more than the echoing words of Obi-Wan.  _ Speak reasonably, and reasonable men will listen.  _

_ Oh, Obi-Wan, _ Anakin thought to himself. 

“He was not a coward, Mace,” Anakin reassured. “He reclaimed his honor.” 

Mace laughed, then coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. “I hope there is a life after this one. Then I will see him, and know the truth of his final days.... And when it is your time, we will find you, and then there will be no doubts.” 

Mace’s life ebbed away, bloody, at the feet of Anakin Skywalker, his death echoing of his father’s. He took a breath, turning his back after closing Mace’s eyes. “ _ An chuid eile i síocháin.”  _


End file.
